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With the setting sun and little in the way of life surrounding them, crossing the Kenzankian Mountains, three caravans towed by strong draught-breeds. Within the front-most, rested four. Two Acolytes, one Priest, and their Leader.

In robes of blackest silk and leather boots to match, colour provided by the serpentine symbols running along the silvered edge of his leather headdress which rested upon said head and shoulders, and the green waistband whose patterning glimmered as a snake's scales.

The rearmost, the feed for their mounts, themselves and shelter for their guard.

Held between these two, their purpose for their trek to Zamora.

Two drivers a caravan, a guard totalling 20 on horseback, led by the grim-faced Rexor, his black armour seeming to draw in the fading light as cold hard eyes maintained their trained vigil.

With the Sun coming down behind the mountain peaks, the company was called to a halt for the night. Half the guard forming a loose wide oval around the caravans while the others made ready the camp for the night.

“No fire.” Rexor stated slow and clear. “Let us not attract unwanted attention towards ourselves now.” The fur cloaks they carried with them would suffice to keep the worst of the chill night at bay, it still cold given their elevation.

It was now that their Leader exited his caravan to check on the state of their most important cargo, those not on watch turning to face him with the deepest of respect. Facing them just long enough to acknowledge it, he lowered himself just enough to look through the grid that allowed good clean air for her to breathe.

<Sleep well my Pet.> His deep voice quietly, fondly spoke in a tongue that was heavy with hissing. <It will not be much longer before this confinement is at an end.>

While their leader rested within the foremost Caravan, with a single Acolyte, the others were either camped around them, or on watch.

Five on watch at this time - the half-moon providing all the light for them - for a period of two hours before they were to be relieved by the next watch who sought to gain as much rest as they could in the time they had.

Rexor lead this first watch, eyes waiting for signs of movement that could mean possible foes. On foot to allow the horses rest.

Neferket smoothly raises her tent, frowning as the poles refuse to cooperate. She has become more skilled at this on the journey, but the process is still a laborious one. Once her small tent is up, she slides inside it, wrapped closely in her long cloak, tugging the flaps closed behind her. Two hours... not a long time to rest but she knows now to make the most of it.

As the relative warmth surrounds her she relaxes and sighs. She is a far cry from the burning sun of her homeland, and relaxation is a rare commodity lately. Still she has a job to do. More than one, in fact.

He was an average sized Zamorian donned in exquisite red robes of noble quality which was trimmed in golden tread of intricate design. His hood was high coming down over his eyes and his hands were tucked into his opposing sleeves. He walked around each wagon in turn, very carefully examining the glyphs of warding he had placed personally on each of their structures.

His name was Bohdan a wily acolyte of the Cult of Set, his golden brown skinned was slightly revealed in the moonlight, his long black hair hidden under his cowl was pulled back tightly and clasped in a thin silver clasp of a coiling serpent rapped around his hair to pull it into a tail. His eyes black as coal and his face unshaven and smooth.

Bohdan paced around the great wagon containing his Master's prized serpent. He carefully scanned the warding glyphs upon the wagon hull to make sure that they had not been tampered with or broken, this carriage was the most important of the three and he was especially careful to examine if his spell still functioned correctly.

Satisfied that they were safe as were the other magical protected wagons, he turned and stared up at the black gulf, his mind blank and his spirit focused on one quest, the return of his Cult to world domination and the enslavement of every other life upon this planet and beyond, if need be!

Inside the lead caravan the acolyte was already in deep sleep, and while it would appear that their leader was too, with his eyes closed, slow deep breathing, and fists rested together in front of his waist, his mind remained alert.

The wards he knew were both powerful and expertly applied by Bohdan, and serving their purpose well though as yet no requirement for their application. A situation that he knew could change as they closed in on Zamora.

While the Cult of Set which he headed was growing in power as the months and years passed, gaining new followers with each new day, those who opposed them were still many. One reason he had selected Zamora as the next place to expand was that King Osric, The Usurper had at best a tenuous grip on his Throne, and sliding him out would not prove to be the greatest challenge. The other being that as the centre of many trading routes - from which its wealth was built on - spreading the word and increasing their numbers made Zamora a prime location.

Arising after her short rest she emerges from her tent. A long legged Stygian with the paler skin of the upper classes, although not the alabaster paleness of the highest nobility. Her supple figure was hidden by a heavy felt cloak that entirely surrounded her, revealing only her face and a curl of black hair, and a hand and wrist where she carried her long curved bow.

She eyed the Zamorian a little warily, seeing he was in meditation. it would be impolite to disturb him so she too looked around. She, however, displayed no interest in the black gulf, nor in dreams of future conquest, but rather in the here and now, staring out across the silent steppe as if seeing movement in every shadow. Her mind took things day by day, and there would be few days indeed in her future if any harm came to their charge...

Though Dawn had not yet broken, the sky was beginning its transition from black to deep-blue, the Moon having since set, the final watch over half the way through their vigil.

The Leader woke with a start, his meditation having given way to rest. A moment of calm thought passed as he reminded himself as to where he was seated. Yet as he maintained his steady breathing, something felt…off. A check of his surroundings alerted him to the probable cause, his own time in deep sleep. A few seconds to rectify the potential situation was all he needed, and, satisfied that the Acolyte was still slumbering soundly, resumed his meditation.

[+]

“I can’t see five feet in this light.” A grumbling whisper sounded some distance from the temporary camp.

“Quiet.” Another voice hissed. “You want them to hear us?”

The first voice remained silent as the dozen-strong group lay just out of the direct line of sight of the caravans.

“The Sun will be rising behind us.” The second voice spoke in hushed whisper to the others once they were closer. “Once it rises, we open the volley, and kill them all. King Osric has offered a mighty reward once we bring to him the proof. Understood?”

A nodding of heads could just be made out. “Good. We wait here until the Sun rises, in less than a half-hour.”

Neferket watches the night slide slowly by, turning to watch the dawn as it spreads its colours across the sky, a touch of beauty in this desolate place. Still, she is well aware this is a time of danger. Moving into position under cover of darkness then attacking as soon as one can tell friend from foe is a popular tactic among raiders. Of course, dawns have occurred before on this journey without attack, and she has no reason to believe this one any different, but still it is not wise to be careless.

The Sun was now just beginning to climb over the edge of the Kenzankian Mountains, and the mercenary band was ready to begin. Edging closer ever so slowly, until they were inside the firing range of their bows.

“Quietly now.” The Group Leader whispered, easing his bow to in front of him with the first piercing-arrow, carefully adjusting his footing to allow him to draw the bow, his men just a step behind as they picked a target each.

“Now!” This command came as a yell as the first volley was loosed.

[+]

Inside the Lead Caravan, the Leader’s eyes shot open, meditation broken by the unfamiliar voice that penetrated the interior.

An attack. That much he deduced from the noise outside as he picked up his bow.

Neferket has a brief moment to congratulate herself on her foresight as the rising dawn is obscured by a cloud of arrows, before diving behind a desert boulder as the hissing rain slams down. She hears the screams and cries of the less-prepared with a cool detachment, slipping the string of her own Stygian bow into the nock of a long arrow. She rises fluidly from behind her boulder, picks a shadowy attacker and looses before dropping smoothly back behind it again.

She glances around at the arrows hissing into the ground around her and allows herself a wry smile. No chance of running out of shafts, at least...

Nocking another arrow she looses steady considered shots at the attackers, keeping her boulder as cover!